


Pollination

by entanglednow



Category: Primeval
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-09
Updated: 2007-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Animals aren't the only things that are dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pollination

**Author's Note:**

> I was very bored when I came across some Primeval screen caps, and someone's icon was a big flower, and I thought; 'sex pollen.' Then I wrote some porn...because my brain is like that.

The latest invasion into the present is not large and destructive, and it doesn't pose an immediate threat to life and limb. It's small, and numerous, and as yet it's destructive nature is undecided. There have been a variety of reports concerning strange insects, and more than a few helpful crushed specimens have proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are not local.

Still, insects are not high on the 'dangerous beasts' list which means they only get Captain Ryan rather than a whole team, and almost no interest from the Home Office. Half of Nick is relieved about this, the other half in entirely prepared to feel smug should the insects all turn out to be ravenous flesh-eaters. Though they have, as always, ignored the possible extent of the problem. Nick is more than aware of the considerable damage an influx of new insects can do to the environment.

Stephen, Abby and Connor have taken the nets and boxes off into the forest, fully intent on capturing specimens and determining if they've actually been breeding here. Leaving Nick and Ryan to backtrack and study the point of origin.

Though Nick is more than surprised to discover that it's not an anomaly. It is, in fact, a damn great plant.

There is no question of it being from the present either. It's vast, it's taken over roughly five square metres of the forest floor, tangling over fallen trees and branches and suffocating the local wildlife. It's also mauve, the thing has huge, ugly flowers the size of bicycle wheels, and fluffy green leaves that shift and curl in ways which look thoroughly unnatural.

Nick has no idea what it is and Connor, of course, has gamboled off through the bloody woods with Stephen and Abby, taking his laptop with him. Nick has a smattering of knowledge throughout several fields that aren't his own, but unfortunately he knows sod all about botany.

He seriously doubts that Ryan is going to be any help in that regard.

"What is it?" Ryan asks, possibly under the mistaken impression that knowing it's classification will help him in his constant watch for danger.

Nick shakes his head. "I'm afraid 'giant flowering plant' is as far as my botanical knowledge takes us."

He picks up a stick and pokes one of the flowers. It's robust enough, thick and solid, pollen puffs up in short yellow bursts.

"Should you be doing that?" Ryan sounds amused.

"I'm fairly certain that vicious carnivorous plants only exist in movies," Nick says pointedly.

Judging by the way Captain Ryan is hovering somewhere over Nick's shoulder, and not pointing a gun at it, he doesn't really believe it poses a threat. A healthy amount of caution might be wise, animals aren't the only things capable of defending themselves.

A slightly harder poke produces more pollen, and a dent in one of the petals. It hasn't thrown poisonous darts at either of them yet though. It smells like fruit, slightly overripe, thicker and more unpleasant the closer he leans to the leaves.

Ryan shifts against his back again, trying to see over his shoulder.

The poking has dislodged a cloud of pollen and Nick coughs, straightens while it drifts past them.

"Though I would imagine it would need a considerable amount of insect traffic..." He pauses to look around. "...for pollination." The wind sweeps the pollen back again, and it's thick enough that Nick shuts his mouth and takes a step back, Ryan catches hold of his elbow before he ends up falling in the damn thing.

Ryan is astonishingly close, closer still when he turns his head, and the hand has slid all the way up his arm, and it's warm, far warmer than his own skin. Which is oddly fascinating, and he has no idea why.

"We should collect samples." Nick hasn't pulled away from Ryan's hand.

He doesn't move for a long confused moment, he knows where the kits are, he knows he needs them, and the fact that he feels more than a little dizzy should be worrying him far more than it does. He remains perfectly still until Ryan shifts behind him and pushes a hand up into Nick's hair, and he lets him, and it's startling that he lets him

His head is tilted sideways and Ryan's mouth drags over the curve of his jaw, half open, breath curling up and over the side of his ear, and everything he was about to say is swallowed up in the noise that comes out of his throat. It's surprised and broken and sounds absolutely nothing like him at all.

Ryan's hand slides round his waist, shoving his t-shirt up, and the hand that slides up his chest is as warm as it was on his arm.

He not only allows it he shifts back into it.

He's vaguely aware that the phrase 'impaired judgement' belongs here somewhere.

Ryan sways away for a long second, and there is the clatter of a gun hitting the floor, and Nick suspects that's against some sort of Special Forces rules, discarding your weapon to...to...what exactly are they doing anyway?

A hand on his jaw drags his head round and Ryan kisses him, which suggests they are doing this, and he isn't arguing, he's twisting his shoulder into Ryan, shoving a hand in his hair and dragging him close enough that every breath is a fight.

He's never kissed anyone quite this strong before, and the hand that Ryan has buried in his hair flexes, opens and pulls, just a little, until the angle is perfect for Nick to push Ryan's mouth open. Until everything is tangled and wet and careless, and they're lost, they're both fucking lost.

There's no hesitation, he's not sure he's even thinking, he's just reacting, and Ryan is warm and hard, and fucking alive, and everything is very, very confusing...and he _does not care_.

Ryan's hand slides all the way up his chest, pulling him back, shoulder-blades crushed against the equipment in his vest, and Nick lifts a hand and throws it round the back of Ryan's neck, drags him in closer, and there are teeth at the edge of his jaw, breath bursting across his mouth. The hand slides back down, and he jerks under it, half-way to speaking and never actually managing it. Then Ryan is dragging open his belt, and Nick is almost certain he's going to open his mouth and tell him to stop, tell him that this is insane, because it is insane.

Button and zip are tugged open and he can't stop the way his hips sway towards Ryan's shifting hand. He knows he should pull away, step away, move somehow. He fully intends to do all of these things right up until Ryan shoves a hand into his jeans.

"Fuck!" He manages a word, thin and ragged.

He curls his own hand round Ryan's wrist and he doesn't even know what he's going to do until he's pushing it down, nails digging into the back of Ryan's wrist, and the slide and shift of his hand brings to his attention the fact that he is hard, rock hard under Ryan's palm.

The shove of hips against his arse tells him he's not the only one, and Ryan's breathing in his ear is shockingly loud, catching on every inhale. He tilts his head back and Ryan opens his mouth against his throat like he asked for it, digs his teeth in and Nick makes a noise which is absolutely nothing less than encouragement. A sound that make Ryan's hand fold all the way round him, hot and rough and too awkward to catch.

Ryan's hand is too big and his jeans are too tight and this, at least, he is not confused about. He takes his hand out of Ryan's hair and drops it, uses it to push his own jeans down and Ryan makes a noise in his ear, hands sliding down to catch his bare hips and drag them back against him.

The crush of material against his skin is brief, Ryan's hand slides between them, tugging open his own belt and trousers shoving them low enough that when he pulls Nick back everything is flesh and heat and desperate need. 

Ryan's cock presses against the curve of his arse, painting trails on the skin, and he draws a great ragged breath, shoves back against it without conscious thought. Ryan swears, hands restless, then just hard, against the bare skin of his hips.

"Down," Ryan says in his ear. "God, please, down."

Nick is briefly, irritatingly, bewildered.

"What?"

"I want to fuck you," Ryan says roughly. It's honest and desperate, and he's gasping against Nick's throat like he can't believe he said it.

It makes arousal flare, quick and brutal, inside him and Nick can't think of a single good reason to say no.

The ground is soft and cool, sprinkled over with pollen and when Ryan shoves his t-shirt up his back he drags it over his head himself, doesn't care where it ends up, cares even less when Ryan digs teeth into his back and slides up his body.

Ryan likes to bite it seems, and judging by the way he flinches and shivers under every drag of teeth it's not just his fetish. He pulls away and tugs one of Nick's boots off, which makes no sense whatsoever until his jeans are dragged all the way down and off one leg, and everything suddenly becomes intent and just a little sharper.

There is a huge hand at the base of his spine, pressing in when Ryan sways up and away from him. Even that makes his skin tight, because everything is too hot and too much, all bright edges and need.

"Ryan?" Nick manages, and his voice sounds strange and thick.

"Wait," Ryan says and he sounds nothing like himself either. "Wait, just -."

Velcro tears, and it's so fucking loud, sensible enough that it should have made all this seem insane, should have done something other than make Nick shift his forehead against his own arm and swear softly.

He's almost certain he knows what Ryan is searching for and he's torn between angry protestations and telling him to hurry the fuck up.

The world doesn't make sense anymore. What the fuck are they doing? Whatever it is it's clear they have no intention of stopping. Or they don't know how to stop, one or the other.

Ryan drags him to his knees, breaking all his thoughts into pieces, and this is in no way a position he's used to, but there's a fine tremble running through him that he cannot bloody stop and every exhale sounds like it wants to crack apart.

Then there is an entirely new sensation, glide of slippery fingers across and then inside, and Nick is fairly certain he should be disturbed, or upset and not...gasping into the dirt. Ryan is swearing, and whatever control he might have still had is quickly being overruled by instinct and desperation and pure selfish need. He pulls Nick closer and Nick is tempted to protest at being dragged about but he doesn't have the breath left. When a hand slides round his waist and curls round his cock he isn't sure he cares.

Both sensations fuse together into one obscene whole, and Ryan ruthlessly takes the opportunity to slide another finger inside him.

Ryan clearly has some idea what he's doing which is both a relief and a fucking distraction, and when he shifts closer there is no one emotion left, just a mess of impatience and arousal.

Ryan is heavy, as heavy as he looks and twice as hard, and the dig of equipment into Nick's back reminds him that he's still wearing his tac vest, and that really should not cause the sort of reaction it does.

Ryan's fingers slide free a fraction of a second before his cock pushes in, slippery enough that there's no catch, just one long inexorable slide that drives a ruthless ache all the way up Nick's spine. There are no words to describe it and he can't remember how to breathe, and Ryan is making soft, desperate, noises which are not helping.

Ryan's forehead presses against the back of his neck, breath shivering down Nick's spine.

"Oh god, this is, this is not -."

Nick knows exactly what he means but this is not the fucking time to be having a bloody moment. Ryan's fingers are digging in hard enough to hurt, and anything that might have been confusion or coherent rational thought is smashed under the first long slide of Ryan's hips.

"God, I can't, I have to -" all of Ryan's words are strung together, mangled and half drunken. There is not even a hint of the control he usually wears like a coat and the fact that he is quite clearly falling apart jars in a way that's entirely sexual.

Nick's breathing into the floor, sharp and harsh, and he's fairly sure he's speaking. He has no idea what he's saying, he's sure it's just a ramble of filthy broken words, but Ryan is making noises which sound helpless, hips pushing up under every one of them.

Ryan has lost what little rhythm he had, thrusts turned into short, ragged shoves that make Nick's hands slide in the dirt, words breaking off to make room for tight aching noises. It's easy to lean forward, to slide to his elbows and let the curve of his back take it, it makes Ryan take a sharp breath and fold over Nick's back, free hand sliding up to curl over the curve of his shoulder.

"You're going to make me come." Ryan makes it sound like half warning and half plea.

"Jesus!" He can't do anything but react now, react to the rough, lost, tone of Ryan's voice and the way they are pressed so close together they can barely move at all.

Nick moves one of his hands, reaches back and wraps it around Ryan's where it slides up and down his cock.

Ryan groans into his back, hand leaving his shoulder for long enough to slide up into his hair and catch a handful, and Nick knows he's tempted to pull, or push, tempted to make everything just a little tighter, just a little harder.

He catches himself though, slides his hand back to Nick's shoulder, but the brief slip has already dragged him over the edge. Ryan's hips slam solidly up against his own and he groans through his teeth, thighs twitching and shaking on every exhale, and Nick can feel it, can actually feel it in a way that makes him drag a breath and hold it, and groan like he's coming apart at the seams. 

Ryan's fingers are dug into his shoulder hard enough to bruise, hard enough to send the muscle into a vicious twitching daze and it's all too much. He comes so hard his breath chokes out of him in one short ragged noise.

The world comes back in splinters, noise and light quickly followed by sound and sensation...and the world is full of some very unfamiliar sensations indeed.

The most important of which is Ryan, slumped over his back, breathing sharp and hard against his shoulder blade.

He's incredibly fucking heavy.

Nick elbows him in the side, Ryan makes a quiet noise, slides out of him, and lands with a 'thud' in the grass to his right.

Nick breathes through every single trembling aftershock, sweat very slowly cooling on his back, and he's fairly certain there will come a point when scientific distance will return. He's equally certain that this is something just a little too vivid for repression to work very well on.

The ugly plants giant ugly flowers sway above his head.

"I suggest..." Nick says very carefully. "That you request a team in hazmat suits."

He can hear Ryan breathing, still short and rough, can see the curve of one black clad thigh, which makes him swallow something that wants to be a groan but isn't quite sure why.

"And flamethrowers," he adds quietly.

There is a long, strange pause, made even stranger by the fact that neither of them has made any attempt to move away from the other. It's impossible not to say something, not to -

"And this..." Nick starts.

"Doesn't go in the report," Captain Ryan says quietly.


End file.
